Pirates of the Grassy Glen

Wednesday evening I sat on a bench at the corner of 6th Avenue and Spring street pondering the westerly boundary of SoHo. Was it 6th Ave or something farther west? The waft of a cheap cigarillo from a neighboring squatter filled my lungs before my friend and distinguished guest for the evening appeared. V/R, both a gentleman and a scholar, emerged from his office looking slightly defeated but dapper in his newly purchased purple plaid skinny tie. His bitter scowls of career frustration began to melt away as we descended south one block to the newly opened Lani Kai cocktail lounge.

We rounded the corner on Broome street and the line of salivating scotch fanatics came into view. Weeks prior I had received an invitation from Warehouse 24, The Balvenie's (free) member's club, to attend a tasting of their new release - a 14 year Caribbean cask scotch - at Manhattan's newest tiki inspired cocktail purveyor. The tropical liquor hut is the creation of Julie Reiner, a native Hawaiian and owner of my favorite throwback speakeasy, Clover Club located across the river in Brooklyn. Ms. Reiner can also lay claim to NYC hotspots Pegu Club and Flatiron Lounge, for a total of four cocktail meccas, two of which having just made GQ's list of 25 Best Cocktail Bars in the Country. In a beautiful blend of cross promotion, Lani Kai was the ideal spot to introduce the Balvenie's newest pirate inspired malt.

Image: Cigar Aficionado

As with any hip New York event, clipboard wenches guarded the massive wooden door with attitude and stiletto heels. Being an awkward loner at such events, my request for a plus one had been granted days prior and I was excited to share this tasting quest with my bearded novice of a friend. A minor scuffle with said wenches was quickly resolved but not without a slight scare involving V/R's possible departure. I am not one for confrontation but free scotch is grounds for holding fast to your permissions. The double wide door opened and the grimy urban air disappeared into the warm glow of paradise.

Lani Kai is dimly lit, just barely revealing the unstained timber that lines the walls. It's exactly what you would imagine an upscale tiki bar to resemble - a prohibition joint meets Havana supper club. After securing our initial sips, we laid claim to a table and sank into conversion of work, music, women and our golden host for the evening, scotch. Gorgeous gals in flowing floral dresses offered up delicious treats of fried pork wontons, crispy tuna rolls and what I can only describe as a blissful polynesian zepole. Before long a buoyant Belefonte with a Braveheart brogue appeared at our table to welcome us to the event and offer a compliment on my tropical madras tie. He was somewhat of a walking contradiction of amusement, a lithe Scotsman passing as a member of the Buena Vista Social Club. His straw fedora and camp shirt masking his true highland identity. I am not one for jealousy but this man has an enviable job. He is Andrew Weir, a Balvenie ambassador, whose career requires remaining in "high spirits" to stimulate desire for his brand. Roughly translated - he is paid to attend parties and drink Scotch. Sign me up. 

Image: The Silk Road of Wine

We heard of a live Cuban band below deck along with tumblers of "Balvenie Punch" offered up. Unfortunately, this required making it past the serving bar, which somehow we could never manage to accomplish. There is one thing the Balvenie is not - stingy. V/R and I enjoyed about 7 more "tastings" to secure notes and maximize our appreciation for the cask. Balvenie's newest malt is an interesting departure from their more well known "DoubleWood", swapping a rich sherry flavor from European oak for sugar cane extracted from the inside of Caribbean rum casks. The appearance is much lighter and is marked by a thinner consistency with showgirl legs - thin and quick. I picked up notes of honey, toffee and island spices on the nose, no real surprise considering the rum infusion. Once on the palate the nose holds true except with the slight added flavor of dried oranges. The smokiness of peat was present but very subtle, like the piccolo amongst a full orchestra. The finish is complex - rough but clean - like swallowing a light sugar water. I found this the most interesting point of comparison to the DoubleWood's more buttery lingering finish.

The night began to dwindle to a close as the scotch ran dry and bodies began to disappear from the Soho oasis. By New York standards it was quite early and for most of the night we were bypassed by those bearing food. If not for the villainous stares of V/R to lure in those vixens of victuals we may not have been able to even taste there delectable treats. While it might seem befitting to end such a refined event with a proper meal and perhaps a glass of Cab, we opted for a more humble, rugged approach. A short walk later into the depths of the east village, having covered topics of architecture, design and the occasional innocent glance at a derriere, we arrived at our destination of choice. Under the giant wiener emblazoned with "eat me" we decsended into the hotdog shack that also houses a secret… whose name requests of me not to tell.

Image: keaner.net

A belly full of scotch requires a bit of digestive company and Crif Dog was happy to supply the guests. Moments after ordering, a bountiful booty of artery clogging processed meat arrived and was nestled in amongst PBR cans and cheesy tater tots. For V/R his poison included A Philly Tubesteak and A Spicy Redneck - the former, a cheesesteak inspired dog with sauteed onions and the later smothered in chili, cole slaw and jalapenos. As for yours truly, the Good Morning and a Temptee would prove both satisfying and life altering. While the Good Morning was a straightforward combo of egg, bacon, cheese and hotdog, a creative breakfast sandwich, the Temptee rocked me like a hurricane of taste and bewilderment. Its ingredients are simple but strange - a bacon wrapped hotdog floating atop a cream cheese smeared bun. Sounds disgusting? Think again because it is actually brilliant; a culinary delight that makes you wonder what other combinations that rustle vomit salivation are in reality sublime across the palate. Under the jealously watchful eye of the ivy league "hipster" seated next to us we plundered our dogs with ravenous intent, fielding questions from our nosy neighbor until we had our fill.

We parted satisfied but mildly regretful of what we just put our bodies through.  I meandered to the subway with my my tasting glass swinging from two fingers thankful for my free scotch and hotdogs.  Just a Wednesday night in New York.

God bless this city.

Advice: Jacket/Jeans

Easy visual reference.  Understood?
Images: FanPop and J.Crew's favorite looks

What better way to return than to dispense some much needed advice to one of my three avid readers.

J/P writes:

Yo R/C

I'm tooling around with the idea of trying out the Jacket/Jean combination. Whether it be a t-shirt or button down under the jacket is unknown. What should I be looking for as a versatile coat that will allow me to pull off either look, not look like a douche, and be affordable?

A hardy "yo" to you my fashionably bewildered chap,

I applaud your forward thinking of the upcoming season and the fortitude to ask for advice when needed. It just so happens that I have many opinions on this subject and you have offered me an excellent chance to rebound from the depths of summer with a much overdue post. I too have been conceptualizing my fall wardrobe and am eagerly awaiting the cooler weather that necessitates a stylish jacket and a pair of jeans, finally devoid of hindquarter sweat.

There is a fine line between good intentions and proper execution. Worn correctly, a jacket is an essential element for refining your wardrobe, setting you apart from the sickeningly casual masses and hopefully garnering a few female glances. Conversely, without the right approach you could wind up portraying a hillbilly at his momma's funeral or a chunky ten year old sloshing around in dad's duds.

Most men feel forced into wearing jackets, either out of social pressure or office obligation. They begrudgingly slip inside their resented uniform like a stupefied zombie instead of embracing a classic piece of menswear that can transform them from a drone to a Draper. The true beauty of a well tailored jacket, besides upping your style ante, is its versatility. Investing in a proper jacket will bridge the gap between rugged and refined. Paired with proper trousers, you will denote an air of sophistication, while switching to denim arouses casual charm. Allow me to pontificate:

The Basics:
As with most anything, you get what you pay for. A jacket can and should be worn often - pony up and purchase a well made piece. While there are many places that peddle a vast selection of jackets, they're often meant for the man that HAS to buy instead of the man that WANTS to buy. You have made a conscious choice and now is the time for discretion.

Be on guard entering a Men's Wearhouse, Jos. A Banks or similar store. They market to an older crowd that tends to want more conservative business looks. You, my friend, want style, not business. As an alternative, try department stores such as Macy's or Lord & Taylor or even Filene's Basement that sell more fashion minded brands like Calvin Klein, Tommy Hilfiger or Ralph Lauren. These labels keep abreast of the current trends and have various lines aimed at different demographics. Not to mention that shopping a department store (especially during sales) will offer style without causing your wallet to break out in hives.

Living in New York, I happen to be surrounded by specialty stores that I have come to prefer over other purveyors. These shops have a more concentrated design on what their brand produces which helps battle indecisiveness and overload on my part. I know exactly what I'll be facing before walking in each store. The price point may be slightly higher but it can help to narrow your focus and expand upon a garment's purpose. Take stock in their lookbooks for ideas. For instance, places like J.Crew actually promote deconstructing their suits to be worn as separates, which creates many styles with one purchase.

In the end $150 - $300 is an excellent price for a well made jacket. Think of it this way, you spend $50 on a bottle of scotch that will ultimately wind up in the toilet. Spending $250 on a jacket you wear 3 times a week seems pretty reasonable now, right? 

Beautiful fit off the rack, this flannel suit jacket
doubles as the perfect sport coat.

Fit:
First and foremost is fit. Don't even bother looking at patterns and styles until you know your correct jacket size. If you chose to ignore my advice, sirens will sound and hordes of beautiful women will laugh and throw pickle juice on you. Go ahead… think I'm joking?

Your jacket size is based off of your chest measurement.  Have a tailor, friend or family member measure your chest from the widest point.  This will give you a basis to begin trying on sizes. Most men wear their jacket too big.  From this inital measurement also try a size down from what the tape measure reads.  You might be surprised that the fit is actually more comfortable and makes you appear even beefier than you no doubt are.  Being young and naive, I was told for years that I was a 40 Long when in reality I am a 38 Regular. Nailing the correct size will instantly up your confidence by enhancing your frame instead of hiding it. Additionaly, don't assume you are a "long" if you hover slightly over 6'. Men are often put in Longs based on height ranges when Regulars are more than adequate. A few other fit details to consider are:

• One quarter to one half inch of shirt cuff should be peeking out - or if you're Sammy Davis Jr., an inch plus.
• Your shirt collar should stand about a half inch to an inch above your jacket collar
• You should be able to cup your hands underneath the bottom of your jacket when standing with your arms straight at your side. Trendier, more fashion conscious jackets may be cut slightly shorter, a feature I tend to look for in a casual sport coat.

Cuts will vary amongst different labels. I recommend experimenting with sizing before attacking the aesthetic or weeding out brands. J.Crew's 38 Regular fits me perfectly with minimal tailoring, while other brands offerings at that size are short in the arms or tight cross the chest and a 39R is required. A jacket should fit clean and snug across the shoulders and back, but not so tight to restrict movement. Be sure that the seam between the shoulder and sleeve falls exactly at the hinge of your arm. As long as the jacket fits in the shoulders, most everything else can (and should) be tweaked by a tailor.

Lastly, a word of advice on salesman. Approach them like Indiana Jones in a pit of snakes. Ferociously flail a torch at them to keep them at bay (and keep a whip nearby in case one gets too close). In many run-of-the mill retail shops I've encountered, these "experts" are simply commissioned workers trying to earn a paycheck. They are not trained in, nor care about, tailoring or style and will exploit your fear and intimidation to make a sale. Size up the salesman. Look at how old he is and if you approve of his wardrobe to see if your thoughts align. If he's dressed like he's attending the Republican National Convention kindly say "no thanks" and rethink your patronage. Being prepared is the safest approach. Know thy size and thy style and avoid being swindled into a "comfortable" sack jacket. 

Keeping cool all summer long in navy linen.

Details:
Once you know your size, next is to look for larger details of the jacket.

• The current (and classic) trend is that of the slimmer silhouette of the 1960s. Look for single breasted jackets with a slimmer notch lapel, between two and 2 3/4 inches. Notch lapels are the most casual and will pair nicely with jeans, while peak lapels tend to be more formal and are better left for suits and double breasted coats unless you have the swagger to rock it with confidence.

• Chose a 2-button or 3/roll-to-2 configuration for buttons. Employing a 2-button with a lower stance helps to elongate the lines that form the V of the jacket, making you appear taller and thinner. 3-button tends to cut you off at the chest, making you look stocky. Anything over three should be burned or donated to Sportscenter's wardrobe department.

• Center or side vents are equally acceptable, just make sure there is a vent! A center vent tends to be more American, while the side vents evoke a bit of British dandy. At this stage pocket types are probably not a concern but there are generally three types - flap, patch and besom or slit - with the flap being the most common.

• There are casual and traditional jackets. Casual blazers tout a softer, unstructured shoulder and are generally unlined. I find these more of summer style and recommend looking for a lined jacket with more classic tailoring.

Plaid with a ticket pocket, a little British flair.
And at $150, a steal from H&M.

Color, Pattern and Fabric:
• There is nothing more timeless than a navy sport coat. However, a charcoal gray in a 4-season wool is an equally safe option providing a nice contrast with the dark blue denim.

• Black is acceptable but I tend to follow the rule that black jackets are better left for undertakers, limo drivers, the Feds and clergy. Not only can it be harsh against paler skin tones, the color will not offer you the flexibility of year round wear. Black in June doesn't sound so cool, does it?

• Apart from style, the sport coat takes on the added responsibility of temperature control. Especially as Fall approaches, fabrics types can be an additional consideration - tweed, flannel, twill, corduroy… or if you're rich, cashmere! Cotton, linen and seersucker are better served for the warmer months.

• Think about pattern as well. Herringbone, houndstooth and subtle plaids are all classic patterns and will pair nicely with jeans. 

Cotton Chino - A nice alternative for Spring into Summer

Final Assembly Required:
You might think that once you secure the perfect jacket you're finished - that you can safely troll about feeling confident that you look cooler than John Wayne on a horse. Well, you would be mistaken. The next time you are out try to really concentrate on how many men are wearing jackets; and of them, how many actually look good. The key to pulling of your desired look is 50% jacket and 50% everything else.

I am going to assume that you are not a 1980's Miami detective or an LA nightclub promoter. You are a lad aiming to create a smart look that borrows from the rugged and refined portions of your manly arsenal. With that being said these few pointers will help you solidify your look and step out assured of all your hard work:

Item #1: NO T-SHIRTS! Some think it cool to juxtapose the casualness of a t-shirt with the refinement of a jacket. I, however, am not one of those people.  It looks sloppy, dated and pompous.  Some men can pull it off, but unless you live in Hollywood and look like Brad Pitt, the aforementioned douchebag alarm will sound like a fog horn on a Northeast shoreline. Let the jeans work the casual angle and keep it classy up top. Stick to a placated shirt with a stiff or button down collar (note: button down generally refers to the collar buttons, not the fact that a shirt buttons down the front).

Item #2: Speaking of t-shirts, invest in 2 packs of Hanes V-neck undershirts. A sure way to amp up your game is to nix the unsightly crew neck peeking out of your open shirt collar. By eliminating the round neck line of your undershirt and letting some chest show, it frees your dress shirt to amplify the elongating lines of your jacket. Instant de-schlubization!

Item #3: Wear darker wash denim in a straight fit. No whiskering, fading or boot cut. Simple, straight and classic will have you looking sharp. Opt for a more rigid denim that will hold the same clean lines as the rest of your wares. I recommend Levi's 514s or Gap 1969 in Authentic or Straight fit as a perfect starter pair at an affordable price.

Item #4: Kick the square toe shoes and sneakers to the curb. Better yet, give them to the dog as a leathery snack. Invest in a nice pair of rounded brown or caramel color brogues to complete your look. Black reminds me of boardrooms and funerals, while the lighter browns pair well with dark denim and are considered more relaxed. For something more casual think loafer, chukka or straight up rugged boot.

Item #5: Don't forget the pocket square! A crisp white square will instantly separate you as a man in the know. And if you're really feeling saucy, don't be afraid to dress the whole look up with a casual tie. Keep the collar unbuttoned and give off an elegant ease.

So in summation J/P here, in my opinion, is what you need to search for on your quest: a slim, notch lapel, 2-button, gray or navy, 10-month wool jacket with a center vent and flap pockets. These details along with the right fit will put you well on your way to attacking Fall in style.

**Much of the same advice on buying a suit translates into buying a sport coat as well. For more expert advice check out the below video via GQ and look for other videos on the GQ Rules section of Youtube. Also, browse through sites like Prepidemic's Piece by Piece to see first hand what a stylish jacket or suit can do with different wardrobe pairings.

Ain't It Funny How Time Slips Away

Today I turn 28.

As I blow out my candles I will be wishing to one day attend a party that looks like this for my birthday:

The photo was taken at Arthur and Mathilde Krim’s house, May 19, 1962. Arthur Krim has been the Finance Chairman for the Democratic Party and an adviser to LBJ. It was President Kennedy’s birthday party.
- At Its Best

Cheers to my birthday brethern. I'm in good company:

"Hey cowgirls, see the grass? Don't eat it."

Farewell Old Friend

Dear The Man Your Man Could Smell Like,

Hello. How are you? Fantastic.

There are few instances in life where you meet someone so manly that it makes you question your place within the species. Had you lived back in "the day" you would have probably wrangled dames with Sinatra and chugged cigar flavored beer with John Wayne. I heard you once placed third in a marathon while wearing homemade chain mail, self-welded from the remains of a 1960's muscle car. And you captained a tugboat towing a ship full of gunpowder, hairspray and flint rocks down the Mississippi? Is that true? If so, bully! You are a lion amongst men.

...ohh, and question - how does one tend goal for an entire hockey match wearing only a helmet made of meat? Your machismo astounds me.

Despite my affinity for underwater ninja combat fighting and flaming chariot races your strapping good looks and undulating voice has left me pondering my own testosterone levels. I have simultaneously arm wrestled Charleton Heston and pistol whipped a grizzly bear, yet my lady friend still looks at my mustache-less face with regret. Even back rubs with chocolate and the tears of babies whilst humming Marvin Gaye tunes can't shake your image from her head. But I am not bitter nor jealous. No, not me. Rather I am humbled to have met you, for you have given me a new standard of manliness to work towards. I must say I monocle smile every time I see one of your preachings.

Lumberjack pose:

I have been a devout user of Old Spice deodorant since before the crow flies but have failed to convert to your beloved body wash. Forgive me. Perhaps this is why I can't pilot a fighter jet blindfolded with my feet? Only blindfolded. But, I use soap. Soap that has little rough scrubby things in it. Dare I say, manlier than any body wash out there. I basically clean my man skin with sandpaper. You should try it.

Paragraph break.

What's that? Yes. It's me. Trying to hold back tears. If my tear ducts worked, that is. I would be openly weeping knowing that you are leaving us. But they do not. They were harvested at birth to produce medicine. Medicine that makes erections. But alas, your time with us has been special and we have all benefited from your wisdom.

So long, old friend. Enjoy retirement and tell MacGuyver and Chuck Norris I said hello.

I'm on a blog.

Bacon and booze forever,

R/C

A few of my favorites (there are so many):











So much more on the campaign:

Twitter
Old Spice
YouTube
Creativity Online

Vintage Adventures

The accepted principle is that men get better with age. As our hair grays and the lines on our faces deepen with the passing years, we develop a distinguished charm. Much like the whiskey we drink, a maturation occurs during our earthly casking (if nurtured and distilled correctly), mellowing our attitudes and delivering a complex yet refined product to the palette of our piers. The bite of brash youth develops into the wisdom, experience and charisma of a seasoned man.

There seems to be a direct correlation between this principle and the fact that men often prefer worn-in, used and battered items over something shiny and new (with the exception of gadgetry). As we age, so, inevitably do our possessions - many marked by the experiences we have shared with them. The particularly personal patina on a pair of brogues, marking many miles marched. A chip in the casing of a watch from a clumsy fumble. A battered box of bruised tools recalling years of creativity and craftsmanship. Those items that help to identify us throughout our life have participated in time along side of us and in turn carry an allure that a new item can never offer.

In my youth, going "antiquing" seemed like a cruel punishment. Wandering around smelly stores filled with junk was agonizing, boring and seemingly endless. I could never quite figure out why my parents lusted after odd bric-a-brac when all I craved was mass produced consumer crack. Recently, though, I've come to appreciate such trips and have been the catalyst for a few vintage adventures. As my style radar has been advancing with age, I have come to realize that much of what I lust after and draw inspiration from cannot be bought on demand but needs to be cultivated and collected over many years. And while many of us are lucky enough to be passed items from direct family lines, we can also seek out items indirectly, as they lie on dusty, cluttered shelves and in worn wooden cases.

This past Sunday I meandered along the weathered tongue and groove of select Shrewsbury, PA shops, gobbling up eyefuls of the preserved past. Unlike contemporary shopping most of the enjoyment I garner from gazing about hides in my imagination and not in lustful greed. I begin to formulate backstories for those items that intrigue me. "Where is this from and who might have owned it?" "How was it used and did its previous owner(s) see the value that I see?" "Was this a mere household item of no great worth or a cherished keepsake?" Often I'll paint a still life on the wrinkles of my brain, depicting the treasures in their prime, ultimately adding character to an otherwise bland relic. What others see as a trinket, I have now transformed into an artifact. I stand in a personal museum, where I write the history of each exhibit:

Shoe polish tin - Grand Central Station, 1919. A gentleman wouldn't dream of heading to the office without a well buffed shoe to compliment his hat and cane. He sits, peering at the Terminal's crowds as a boy works the polish into the leather:

Mantle clock - Formerly perched atop the cherry mantle of a newspaper magnate's office. Deadlines loomed as the clock ticked, rattling the nerves of those who entered:

Tobacco tin - Once stocked with a moist blend, this tin sat in a drawer next to a wing backed arm chair. Its owner relaxed each evening tamping its contents into his well charred pipe. Legs crossed, book in hand, he reflected on the days events and on the sweet aroma of tobacco that tickled his tongue:

Cooler - Filled to the brim with Cokes for the kids and Budweiser for their Dads, a camping trip would not be the same without its chilly services:

Coke opener - Has seen its share of active duty behind the drugstore counter. A precious tool for summer refreshment:

Bottle opener - It's lonely at war, but the 'tttsssst' of a top being cracked from a bottle brought a remembrance of home and what he was fighting for:

Radio - A fireside chat, the bottom of the ninth, or a cheeky Charleston. A child lying on his stomach gazing up as if a character was to pop out of the speaker. A time when imagination was entertainment and seeing wasn't always believing:

Band Aids - The bright red cross against the ivory backdrop provided instant relief to all those childhood scrapes and scratches. The application of its contents and a kiss from Mom sent the kids back out to play:

Maxwell House container - Cozily set next to the shiny percolator on the white counter of a mid-century kitchen. Two neighbors play mid-afternoon cards and enjoy a cup of coffee while gossiping incessantly. The coffee, a facilitator - and good, as always, to the last drop:

And a few other finds, minus the J. Peterman write-ups:

Red Wing Spring/Summer 2011

A look into the future. Work boot meets boat shoe:

I-want-to-go-to-them.

Gatsby Sunday

All images: click to enlarge
Photo credits: Melissa Ciesla, MJ Candioto, yours truly

The Great Gatsby had somehow eluded me during my formal education. I felt guilty and a little cheated that I had never read such an iconic piece of American literature. In an attempt to correct that void in my life I picked up a copy of Fitzgerald's novel at the beginning of May and soon settled down to devour his words. Contrary to my normal course with books, I was finished within 10 days, eagerly racing through his eloquence towards a bitter-sweet conclusion. Through his complex and wildly worded sentences I became lost in his tale and found faint reflections of myself in the "great" title character. 

On Sunday I sat sipping morning cocktails atop the cobblestones of Stone Street, a scrawny block resting in the Financial District at the southern tip of Manhattan. It was a particularly fitting way to begin the day's festivities, adding to the feeling of old world charm. In the company of two fine ladies, I feasted on an outdoor brunch and began to digest the effects of the days heat. My pink contrast collar button down hugged me close in the absence of a breeze and I could feel the sweat begin to cling to my undershirt.

Image: AP Photo/Mark Lennihan via New York Outdoors

With satisfied stomachs and lighter wallets we set out for our final destination. Looking out over the harbor, the sea breeze brought with it a hint of elegance from the tiny adjacent island that lay just out of reach. Once upon a time Governor's Island was used as a military base to house Naval and Coast Guard officers. Much to our delight, the uniforms were long gone and the public was once again welcomed to its shores for the Veuve Clicquot Polo Classic. 

As we approached an intimidating line for ferry service, I found myself in a dreamlike setting - one of sartorial bliss. All around me were men brandishing linen, bow ties and straw fedoras. A steady stream of uniquely colorful frocks and bountifully brimmed hats paraded past on the bodies of various lithe ladies. My thoughts, for once, were full of unspoken compliments instead of pretentious judgement. This was the New York I had always dreamed of living in - even just for an afternoon.

As time progressed the sun's intensity bore a mighty wrath with the match set to begin. Looking across the massive field we, the proletariat, could see the towering tents that shaded the chosen people from harmful rays. Together with celebrities, moguls, politicians and artists we all settled in to watch a model battle a prince - Nacho Figueras's (of Ralph Lauren fame) Black Watch versus Prince Harry's Black Rock - with beauty eventually triumphing over nobility by a count of 6-5. 

Pre-match research taught me that polo is played on the largest field in organized sports, measuring 300 yards x 160 yards. Each team is comprised of 4 players and their mounts who compete against each other over 4, 6 (most common), or 8 chukkers, or 7 minute periods of play. Due to grueling activity during the match, players frequently switch to fresh ponies between chukkers. I was also interested to find out that the mallet must be held in the right hand and that the uniform numbers were more than just identifiers. Each numbered position, 1-4, has certain responsibilities to execute in the ultimate goal of putting the ball between the posts for a score (from Wikipedia):

•Number One is the most offense-oriented position on the field.

•Number Two has an important role in offense, either running through and scoring themselves, or passing to the Number One and getting in behind them. Defensively, they will cover the opposing team's Number Three, generally the other team's best player. Given the difficulty of this position, it is not uncommon for the best player on the team to play Number Two so long as another strong player is available to play Three.

•Number Three is the tactical leader and must be a long powerful hitter to feed balls to Number Two and Number One as well as maintaining a solid defense.

•Number Four is the primary defense player.

And, as in Pretty Woman, there is the ritual halftime "devoting" that takes place on field. Unfortunately for us only the wealth could participate in such a sacred event… I can only hope that a few of the hoity toity mistakenly stomped on a steaming divot, leaving their Louboutin reds caked in brown.

As our time came to a close on the fancied isle my mind wandered back to Gatsby. I had used the novel's grandeur as inspiration for my attire but never expected a deeper insight to form - was I a poor man's Gatsby? Just as Jay clumsily toiled around his manse, so do I at such chic events, wondering when I will be exposed as a fraud. As I have mentioned in a previous post, my appreciation and enjoyment of the finer things does not jive with my objective successes to date. Gatsby and I are not so unalike in our personas, hoping we can skate by on illusion, except from opposite frames of reference. Some men luck out and live a life of undeserved, ignorant enjoyment while others work hard to achieve a level that is well earned but limited. Either way, each is looking over their shoulder hoping to be free from a stigma that states what they are supposed to be, do or like.

Whether we like it or not there is a separation between classes - a giant polo field that divides the bourgeoisie from the elite. My existence lies in the former, my tastes in the latter. I am fascinated by tailored clothes, expensive scotches, prestigious sport and old world opulence, yet by societal standards, all is undeserving. I hate that such a divide exists, which is part of my thesis for this blog. By intertwining the tastes of the two worlds I feel it makes for more genuine, well-rounded and interesting people. Money, power, status, affiliation or the lack there-of should not dictate what can be enjoyed. I have just as much right to indulge in poor polo as one who might in rich rodeo. And on this Sunday in June it happened.

For more on the fashion front head over to GQ's slideshow.